


Switching It Up

by FoxGlade



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 04:03:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13310025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxGlade/pseuds/FoxGlade
Summary: After a tiring show, Sammy just wants to not be alone. Ben offers up his Nintendo Switch and some good company.





	Switching It Up

**Author's Note:**

> i cant believe the first thing im posting in 2018 is for this tiny-ass podcast lmao. set sometime shortly before ep 58. i know nothing about the nintendo switch please forgive me.

It’s been a long night. It’s weird how that happens – they’re on air for hours and hours, day in and day out, nothing to do but sit and talk at each other and various members of the Greek Chorus that is the good folks in King Falls. Sammy’s not lying when he says he loves the town, and loves his job, and loves working with his best friend and loves his best friend too, while he’s at it. So the nights usually go pretty quickly. But not always.

Tonight, they’d had to put up with Gwendolyn spouting vague bullshit (with a classic racist twist) over the phone for a solid two minutes before they’d finally cut her off, which is longer than she usually gets. Probably because Ben still feels some sort of reluctant gratitude towards her for cancelling the weather spell. Either way, it had put them both in a tense mood, and then the power had flickered off for a minute due to the storm, followed by a frankly creepy phone call with nothing on the other end but the sounds of whistling wind.

So Sammy’s not exactly riding the high as they pack up their shit at the end of the shift.

“You know it was probably just a butt dial,” Ben says, carefully coiling his headphone cords. Sammy scrunches his into a half-manageable knot and puts it down on his side of the desk.

“C’mon, when is it ever a butt dial?” he says. “I’m just glad no one started saying ‘six six six’ over and over again.”

“God, don’t even say that,” Ben laughs, and then they continue cleaning the place up in silence.

That’s how it usually is after a show, a _normal_ show, whatever that word is worth in this town. A mutually agreed moment to take themselves out of the Sammy & Ben Show headspace, slot back into the similar but less performative headspace of two friends, hanging out, talking to each other just to talk, instead of talking to entertain the population of night owls.

Sammy maybe drags his feet a little, taking his time gathering his things, even though his things are just his phone and his bag, soaking up every moment of not being alone that he can. Ben usually takes longer than him, since he’s in charge of putting the equipment into standby for the changeover, but now they both find themselves at the door simultaneously, shuffling their feet like awkward teens after a high school dance.

“Do you wanna—” Sammy says, at the same Ben blurts, “I bought my, uh.”

Ben is clutching at his satchel in a way that’s not uncharacteristically nervous, but it seems pretty out of place for the situation. “You go,” Sammy says.

“I bought my Switch,” Ben says. “Most of the games are multiplayer only, and I figure, when do I even hang out with anyone at my house, right? At least if I keep it here we could play a few rounds when we get here early.”

Sammy knows for a fact that Ben is nowhere near finished Breath of the Wild yet, mostly because Ben hasn’t shut up about it for the past two weeks, but also because Ben is horrendously bad at most video games.

“You don’t wanna just head home?” Sammy asks. He’s not exactly looking forward to heading back to his empty place and trying (and failing) to get some sleep, but he’s not gonna ask Ben to stick around to soothe his irrational fears.

Ben just waves his phone. “Storm’s still going,” he says. “Got a text from Troy saying to avoid the roads. You know how they get up here on the mountain.”

He says it like he’s practiced it in his head. Clearly Sammy isn’t hiding how on edge he is as well as he’d thought, and Ben, being the good and obsessive friend he is, has engineered the ideal solution. Sammy doesn’t know why he expected anything less.

So he smiles, and says, “Slippery enough to make an apparition of anyone. Alright, you got me. What are we playing?”

 

* * *

 

Sammy hasn’t played Mario Kart in – well, long enough that he’s forgotten how to even do it. The weird, tiny controllers don’t help either, and neither does the fact that they have to crowd together to look at the tiny Switch screen, since the breakroom doesn’t have a television capable of even dreaming of connecting to the console.

“What does this say about you, that I’m actually winning?” he says after Ben falls over the side of the track for the third time in one lap.

“That I’m a good friend for letting you win?” Ben says. The tip of his tongue is poking out of his mouth in concentration. Sammy nudges him just as his character gets a power up, and Yoshi goes sailing over the edge again. _“Fuck!”_

“You’re an amazing friend,” Sammy tells him. Ben jabs him in the side.

The short scuffle ends with only a few bruises to their ribs and they play a few more rounds, but Sammy’s finally relaxed enough that he’s yawning and nodding off where he sits. He gracefully accepts his third place win on their final match, not even ragging on Ben for trailing behind on seventh, and stretches, leaning back into the couch.

“Show me the, uh, the Zelda one,” he says, as if he doesn’t know the exact name of the damn game. Ben takes the controller out of his limp hands and messes with the console, putting it all back together.

“You’ll like this,” Ben says, changing out the games. “I’m even better at this one.”

He leans back with Sammy, butting their shoulders together, and Sammy lets his head fall onto Ben’s shoulder without too much thought. “Don’t let me fall asleep,” he tells Ben.

“Sure thing,” Ben replies, not looking at him.

He’s asleep before the title music even kicks in.

There’s a moment where he blinks into consciousness, just for a few seconds. It’s a confusing few seconds. He’s tilting, but then he sinks into the horizontal plushness of the couch, and it’s so comfortable to him in that moment that he doesn’t question it, just drops back off into sleep.

The next time he wakes up, he’s still unbelievably comfortable, so he almost just rolls over and goes back the wonderfully dreamless sleep he was having, but in doing so he becomes aware of the issue with that plan. He’s lying on his back on the couch in the breakroom, light streaming in through the singular dirty window, and on his chest is Ben, breathing deeply with his face smushed into Sammy’s sweater. The Switch is lying abandoned on the floor next to the couch, beneath Ben’s trailing hand, with the other arm shoved between the couch and Sammy’s ribcage.

Sammy’s got an arm of his own wrapped around Ben’s waist, he realises, just loosely. He makes no effort to move. The whole situation is weirdly peaceful. His lack of nightmares, the quiet of Ben’s breathing, the unexpectedly soothing weight of his best friend asleep over him, hell, even the way the sunlight illuminates the dust particles is nice. There’s a slightly hysterical and absolutely inappropriate joke about dust particle boners on the edge of Sammy’s thoughts, but luckily for them both, his phone rings before it can surface properly.

He fishes around on the floor next to the couch, still reluctant to move, and manages to grab it without too much disturbance. “Hello?” he answers, fully aware that he sounds like a hibernating bear.

“Sammy? That you?” Troy says, voice tinny over the speakers. Sammy drops his head back against the cushions.

“Yeah, Troy, I’m here,” he says. “What’s up?”

“Well, I don’t rightly know, Sammy,” Troy says. He does sound pretty confused. “What in the boy howdy are y’all doing answering Ben’s phone?”

“What?” He takes the phone away from his face and stares at it. They both have iPhones, but yep, sure enough, this one looks much older than his own. “Sorry, didn’t notice. Same ringtone, y’know?”

“Y’all mix ‘em up or something? Better meet on up and switch ‘em back real fast. Who knows what kinda comedic miscommunications could arise from this here situation,” Troy says, mild as ever.

Sammy brushes some hair back from his face – his bun had fallen apart at some point during sleep. “No need, mine’s around here somewhere,” he mumbles, looking around. He’d definitely brought it in here…

Troy is silent for a bit, but Sammy doesn’t really notice until he speaks up again, still out of it as he is. “You two together?” he asks eventually.

Sammy nods. “Uh, yeah,” he adds, remembering that Troy can't actually see him. “We’re still at the station. Fell asleep. Ben said you texted about the roads..?”

On the other end of the line, Troy coughs, and says, “Yeah, reckon I did. Was just calling up to see if Ben had made it home alright, since I didn’t see him down at Rosa’s or nothing. Was gonna call you up next, so I guess I got two for one.”

“Well, we live to make your life easier, Troy,” Sammy says. “We’re fine. Here, I’ll wake Ben up.”

“Aw, no, let him sleep if he ain’t waking up,” Troy urges, but Sammy’s already shaking Ben gently by the shoulder. He can see Ben’s eyebrows furrow, forehead wrinkling up as he curls into himself slightly, pulling his hand up from the floor to bat at him sleepily.

“Sleepin’,” he mumbles, and then, still muffled in Sammy’s shirt, “ _Sammyyy_.”

In a truly impressive display of self-control, if he does say so himself, Sammy does not consider what a nice situation it is that he’s found himself in, with Ben draped over him and saying his name in that whiney, sleep-broken voice. Thinking those thoughts is a path that leads to madness, he knows. But for a second, it looks like a pretty nice way to go.

“That Ben?” he hears Troy ask. That’s enough to snap him out of it.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s waking up any time soon,” he tells Troy. “Don’t worry about us, buddy, I’ll get him home safe and sound.”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Troy says. “You boys, uh… Y’all take care of each other now, y’hear?”

“You got it,” Sammy says, and hangs up a second before he catches Troy’s meaning. “Shit,” he says to the ceiling. Ben mumbles something that sounds like a complaint and puts his nose square in Sammy’s shoulder. It’s pretty cute, he thinks, and he allows that thought to happen.

“You’re cute, but don’t think it’ll get you out of having to explain to Troy that we’re not dating,” he tells Ben. Ben makes a snuffling noise. “Nope, not cute enough.”

The couch really is unbelievably comfortable. The sunlight coming through the window isn’t too bright, either, and it doesn’t seem like Ben will be awake and aware any time soon. Besides, he reasons, the longer he lets Ben sleep, the longer it will be until Sammy forces him into an awkward (for Ben) and hilarious (for Sammy) conversation with their co-best friend. It’s for his own good, really.

He loops his arm back around Ben’s waist and settles back, closing his eyes, letting himself fall into a dreamless sleep once more.


End file.
